


I'll be your courage

by Zwergenmaedchen



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, First Time, How Do I Tag, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Don't Even Know, M/M, My First Fanfic, My First Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 22:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16437665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zwergenmaedchen/pseuds/Zwergenmaedchen
Summary: “Well Lieutenant,” the corners of Thomas’s mouth are lifting the smallest bit, “if you - a soldier - are intimidated,” he cups James’s face with both his hands, gently, leaving the other ample room to escape again, “it will have to fall on me to be courageous for both of us.”or: What Happenend After That Dinner Scene





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so is this is my very first fanfic and I'm beyond excited to hear what you think of it! (concrit absolutely welcome)  
> Many thanks to my wonderful betas: [andtheotherstars](http://andtheotherstars.tumblr.com/), [ahotpeaceofshit](https://ahotpeaceofshit.tumblr.com/), and [aidxnlewis](https://aidxnlewis.tumblr.com/)! All mistakes are still my own, though ;)

# I'll be your courage

### I.

“James.” He sighs. He longs to touch James, to take him in his arms, to show him just how much he means to him.

There's silence. And then James looks to the ground.

“James,” he pleads, reaching out, but stopping just short of taking his hand, afraid he’ll upset the other man, not wishing to make him uncomfortable anymore than he’d already done.

“My Lord?” James asks, looking up at Thomas, questioning, wondering why the man had taken him up to his private quarters. He feels like he cannot breathe, cannot comprehend the heat in the other man’s gaze.

“Do come in, please.” Thomas steps out of the doorway to let James through.

They’re silent again. James is standing stock still, his back straight, hands clasped firmly behind his back. He doesn’t know what to say or do, so he does nothing. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous. After dinner, he had expected to be chased out of the house. He had expected - maybe a fight? What he had not expected was gratitude, the tender touch of Thomas’s hands, the fear that had driven him to step back, step out of the room, his heart racing.

“May I take your coat?” Thomas asks, stepping behind the soldier.  
James lets him take it, watches him out of the corner of his eyes as he hangs it on a hook beside the door.

“James, look at me, please.”

There’s uncertainty in James’s eyes and colour stealing onto his cheeks. But he’s never been able to deny his Lord a direct request and he’s not doing it now. His hands are shaking slightly with a passionate need to touch and feel and hold and never let go, so he clasps them together again.

Thomas steps into his personal space, putting his hands on James’s shoulders, as he had done just minutes earlier, down at the dining table. This time, James doesn’t step away. He gathers his courage to lift his own hand and lay it onto Thomas’s.

“Don’t,“ Thomas inhales sharply, “don’t run away again. This is not wrong. I want you to have no shame, for I have none. Not for you and not for me.” He looks down at James, vulnerable and sad. “Tell me, are you ashamed of my affection towards you?”

“I’m not. I am afraid of it,” James whispers. “And I am afraid for you. For Miranda. This - “ he squeezes Thomas’s hand, “it can’t be. We can’t -” he trails off, letting his hands fall to his sides.

“Well Lieutenant,” the corners of Thomas’s mouth are lifting the smallest bit, “if you - a soldier - are intimidated,” he cups James’s face with both his hands, gently, leaving the other ample room to escape again, “it will have to fall on me to be courageous for both of us.”

He leans forward, nervously licking his lips, hoping he’s made his intentions clear this time. When James doesn’t react, looking at him with wide eyes, not even blinking, apparently not even breathing, he stops.

“I’m not - . James, tell me I haven’t misunderstood everything gravely. Tell me if you want me to stop. I will not, will never make you do anything that is not your own heart’s wish. I want - Lord help me - I want you so desperately. But this is not - . I am not ordering you to stay here, to be kissed by me.” His voice breaks on the last sentence and he has to catch his breath. “It is not Lord Hamilton that is standing before you. It is just I, Thomas, with you, and I am no more than you and you are no less than me.”

James suddenly, desperately, falls onto his lips, embracing him, holding him close with strong arms. He’s breathing again, breathing in Thomas and then there is just hunger. They grasp at each other, devouring and taking, taking, taking. James takes control of the kiss, he presses into Thomas, presses him against the wall. He holds Thomas’s face with both hands, pulls him down, licks into his mouth, bites at his lips, wants to swallow him whole, taking Thomas inside and never letting go.

But Thomas lets go. He lets go of all pretense and decorum, moaning loudly into their kisses. He wants James to know that he is everything to him, that this, even if they could never have any more, is everything. He wants to show him with hot lips and wandering hands. He grabs at James's hips, trying to get them impossibly even closer to each other. He moans against James's lips and whimpers when James starts kissing and biting up along his cheekbone before trailing down his jawline. 

A light stubble burns James’s lips, his hands fall to Thomas’s shoulders, holding him close, while James buries his face in Thomas's neck cloth, once stark white, now darkened by their mingled sweat. He inhales deeply, shaking. He's never wanted anybody so much. Never needed any one person so much.

"I want," he starts to groan. The low rumble sends a jolt to Thomas's groin.

"Yes!" Thomas interrupts. "Yes," he gasps and he's taking control again. He takes James’s hands and puts them on his hips. Puts his own hands on James’s chest, giving them a moment, room to breathe. He languidly kisses James then, trying to slow them both down. He’s leaning against the wall, caressing James’s face, kissing him, tasting him. James clings to him, his fingers hard on his hips, his mouth chasing Thomas’s with every breath he tries to take. When Thomas pulls away, a needy moan escapes James's lips and he bites down on them to quiet himself.

One hand undoing his own neck cloth, Thomas pulls at James's lower lip, freeing it from his teeth.

"Don't. I wish to hear you. I need to know."

Finally, he's freed his neck and he brings his hands up to caress James's face, loosening his neck cloth as well. He wants to ruin that neck, a sudden possessiveness coursing through him. He wants to bite and suck and mark James as his and his alone. But he sees the way that James looks at his shirt and the top button that had been loosened while untangling his neck cloth. 

He takes James's hands, still shaking, and kisses his fingertips. "James," he whispers, "you may. You are allowed. Do you wish to undo these buttons? Or should I do it myself?"

James reaches out for his chest, trying to soothe his trembling nerves with an almost chaste kiss to Thomas’s cheek. Then, still nuzzling Thomas's neck, he begins to open his shirt. 

He looks lost in reverence when he slides the garment off Thomas's shoulders but then he sinks to his knees in front of him, his arms encircling Thomas legs and his face turned away, pressing into his side. His ragged breathing fills the room. Stroking James's head, Thomas undoes the band that keeps his hair from falling to his shoulders, combing through the red locks as he had imagined to do so many times. He asks: "James, my dearest, have you ever known a man as you have known a woman?" 

"I have not," the answer comes quietly. He sounds defeated, out of breath. "My Lord, I do not know that I can do what you ask of me."

"I am not asking of you anything, but what you freely wish to share with me. Have I not made myself clear from the very first time we met? Do you still not believe that I see you as my equal in every virtue?" He falls to his knees in front of James, sorrow filling his heart.

"Oh James, what have I done? Have I misunderstood your intentions? Do you not care for me as I care for you? Just say the word and we shall never speak of this again. Though it may break my heart, if it is your wish, I will never come near you again and we will remain as friends merely." There's tears threatening to fill his eyes at the prospect of losing what he had just thought to have found and he casts his eyes down, where James is clutching at him. When James opens his hands and sits back, his back against the wall, he knows that he has lost him.

James lets the soft silk of Thomas's shirt glide through his fingers while composing his answer in his head. The room is eerily quiet, only his fingertips are tapping a low rhythm against the hardwood floor.  
"Please, do not cast me out of your heart,” he pauses, "Thomas."

"Never."

He takes his time then, keeping his eyes on James's, while caressing his face with light touches. James leans into the touch and Thomas kisses him, softly, open-eyed, hoping to convey through looks alone what his words seem to have failed to convey.

And James understands. He responds with his own soft kisses, his hands pulling at Thomas, making him stumble into his lap. He understands that his affection for Thomas is being reciprocated, that this is not just an itch of a Lord to be scratched by an underling, understands that this is what they both have yearned for. He sighs, closing his eyes and deepening the kiss. His hands glide over Thomas's back, tracing the muscles in his shoulders. When he feels hands at his buttons, opening them slowly, one by one, he gathers his courage to let his own hands wander on, over Thomas strong arms and letting them rest on his chest. 

The sparse hair under his fingers is soft, as are the words that Thomas is whispering into his ear.

"You are beautiful, so beautiful."

Thomas slips the shirt off his shoulders and gently, oh so gently, leans forward until they're chest to chest, forehead to forehead, looking into each other's eyes. 

"I love you, James. Do you know that? I love you."

"I - fuck - I love you, too."

The swear brings a smile back to Thomas's lips.

"Now, that's exactly what I was hoping to do, my dear."

He's smirking at James, lifting one eyebrow suggestively.

James looks up at him, wide-eyed at the sudden change in mood. Then he starts laughing, softly at first, but soon heartily. In between, he’s kissing Thomas, running his hands over his hair, his back, and - again and again - his bare arms. He's laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, two grown men, sitting on the floor, clinging to each other as though their lives depended on it. He's laughing at his own insecurity that had kept him from reaching out for this man so long. He's laughing, because that way, he doesn't have to think about the very real danger that he is getting himself - and his Lord - into. 

Thumbs caressing his jawline ground him in the moment. The very real thumbs of his Lord, his friend. Thomas. Thomas's lips on his lips, their breaths mingling. There's an ache filling his heart, an ache for more, for more of this man, more of his sweet words, his praise, his love.

Thomas carefully gets up and James takes the offered hand, lets himself be helped to his feet again.

"Come now, I'm sure we'll be a lot more comfortable over here."

Thomas sits down on the edge of the bed, not letting go of James's hand, motioning for him to sit down next to him.

James remains standing, leaning over Thomas instead and kissing him and touching touching touching. He cannot stop touching Thomas's arms. They are lean and firm. Strong arms for a Lord, he thinks. He imagines Thomas using that strength on him and a shiver runs down his spine. 

"Are you alright, my dear?"

James sighs contently in response and starts trailing kisses down Thomas's right arm, until he arrives at their joined hands resting on Thomas's leg. He's kneeling now, looking up at the other man from between the red fringe of his hair. He looks pointedly at his groin, laying Thomas’s hands onto Thomas's belt. There's a question in Thomas's eyes as he undoes his belt and James knows the answer.

"Please," he whispers, needy and pleading, "I want you, Thomas. All of you."

He helps Thomas out of his breeches and kisses his thigh up, trailing wet kisses from his knee to his hip. When he arrives at the patch of dark blonde hair, he rakes his fingertips through the curls and lightly, very lightly, wraps his hand around the shaft, all the while keeping Thomas's heated gaze.

Thomas moans as James starts softly tugging on his cock. He leans back on his elbows, opening his legs wider, an invitation. James follows, kneeling between his legs now, glancing down every once in a while, watching Thomas's cock harden even more between his fingers. His own cock, straining against his breeches, is begging to be touched, but he doesn't want to stop now. He's mesmerized by the soft moans that he can wring from his Lord's mouth with just a twist of his hand. The red head of Thomas’s cock is glistening with his arousal. He can't stop now, watching as a drop of clear liquid trickles out of the gland. He wants to know, needs to know. He lowers his head and takes Thomas's cock into his mouth to taste and to feel and to know what it's like.

And it's - not bad. It tastes different than pussy, but it's not any worse. Not better, yet, but really, not that bad. He gathers more saliva in his mouth to wet his lips, before he experimentally starts to slowly move his head down the shaft and up again. Above him, Thomas is gasping for air.

"Yes," he moans, “so good.” James is sucking enthusiastically on the head of his cock, his fingers tightening on the base. Thomas sits up, so he can touch James's head, caressing his cheeks while they are hollowed around his cock.

“So beautiful. My God, don't stop, please.”

Now with every downward move James's forehead presses against Thomas's belly and his nose is lost in the patch of blond hair, inhaling Thomas's scent with every breath that he manages. He tries taking the cock a bit deeper, and moves his hand from the base of the shaft to Thomas's balls.

"Ungh, yes! That's it. So good." 

The pace is erratic, with James spluttering from time to time and sometimes his teeth slightly scrape against his shaft. But it feels glorious, the heat, the friction, the stubble scraping his inner thighs. Thomas pushes the hair from James's face, so he can see him, face red and lips stretched wide around his cock.

"Look at me."

James hums in agreement and does just that. The vibration in his hot mouth and the fiery gaze in his eyes push Thomas closer to the edge.

"Oh Lord, do that again," he moans and his hand tightens in James's hair. When James complies, Thomas’s self-control falters. He is groaning with arousal, unable to stop his hips from canting forward, his hand keeping James's head firmly in place. He wants to apologize, but when he looks down, nothing has changed in James's eyes. He thrusts forward again, keeping their gazes locked, the question clear in his eyes. And James closes his eyes in bliss, moaning around Thomas's cock and places one hand on top of Thomas's hand on his head, pressing down lightly, but without hesitation.

“Lord have mercy, you like this! This is, ungh, so good. So good, my love." Thomas feels the heat pooling in his belly.

"Yes yes yes, I'm close."

The hand on his balls tightens and James looks up at him again, a glint of something feral in his eyes and Thomas can't look away. He keeps his gaze on James when he pushes his head further into his lap, and James, beautiful, perfect James, moans again, his tongue playing with the head of his cock and his cheeks hollowed out. Thomas cums with his hands firmly pressing down on his lover's head, his name on his lips.

James is slightly gagging around the white fluid in his mouth and when Thomas lets go of him, the cum is running down his chin while he’s obscenely licking his red lips.  
"You are perfect, so perfect, so beautiful. Come here, let me." And he's drawing James up onto the bed, kissing him with abandon, smelling and tasting himself on his lover.

James is still out of breath but Thomas is thanking him and thanking him and calling him sweet sweet things and they are so close to each other, Thomas's leg pressing between James's legs, reminding him of his own painful erection and he's lost, so lost in all the sensation, his throat burning from Thomas's cock and his heart ablaze with his adorations. He's moaning and when Thomas reaches between them to undo his belt, he almost cries out with relief, muffling himself to a sob instead.

"Don't worry," Thomas whispers into his mouth between hot kisses, his other hand never stopping from caressing James's cheek, stroking through his hair, down his neck and his shoulders, "I'll take care of you. You've been so good, so good." Thomas stops to tug down James's breeches, his cock springing free from the confinement and now James is whining, grabbing for Thomas’s face, tugging him back down into their kiss again. 

It's all too much and not enough at once. Thomas's mouth on his mouth, the hand in his hair, so tenderly stroking, where it was gripping with force before, the other hand on his cock, his gland touching Thomas' belly with every rough tug. He can feel sweat gathering on his temples and their kisses getting messy. His mouth gone slack, he's moaning while Thomas is licking into his mouth, nibbling at his lips and he whimpers when he feels the fingers untangling from his hair. 

"Shh, it's all good. You are so beautiful, James. So beautiful, so good for me."

And then the fingers are in his mouth and he sucks them with abandon, sloppily lapping at them with his tongue. He feels Thomas watching him, but he can't open his eyes, he just feels and hears and tastes and everything that in this moment is Thomas: Thomas's hand on his cock, stroking him forcefully, making him writhe and keen with want. Thomas's body pressing down on him, the pressure a comfort and a display of his strength at the same time. Thomas panting above him and his never-ending praise. Thomas's fingers in his mouth and now his tongue again, licking into his mouth, sucking on his tongue. Thomas's hand on his arse, wet from his own spit, squeezing his cheek before pressing into the crack, circling his puckered hole and it shouldn't feel good but it does and the hand on his cock is getting faster and James is getting closer and he is moaning Thomas's name and he can't ever stop and Thomas is encouraging him, kissing him, burying his face in the crook of his neck, biting down at the same time as pressing in with one fingertip into James's arse. James cums with a scream, squirting hot cum on both their bellies and chests. 

“Yes, so good, my love.” Thomas keeps softly wringing his cock for every last drop, watching him, brushing the damp hair from his forehead with his other hand and James is sobbing with relief. He covers his eyes with his fingers, muffling himself with the heel of his hand when the stimulation becomes too much.

“Please, don’t,” Thomas says as he pushes James’s hand away to pepper his face with sweet little kisses. He gathers James in his arms, holds him close, soothing him with soft strokes down his back and sides until his breathing becomes even again.

They lie back down, facing each other, their legs entangled, embracing, sharing the same space for just a bit longer. James knows that he cannot stay. The rumours about him and Miranda are already loud enough without anyone seeing him spend the night at the Hamilton residence. And if anybody should find out about this - his heart starts racing, his grip on Thomas’s hand tightening.

“Hey, shh, breathe,” Thomas squeezes back, his other hand coming up to cup James’s chin, tilting his face so James can see the confidence in his eyes. 

“It is all right. No one knows and no one will know. Trust me in this.” He kisses James’s forehead. His voice is gentle and he’s combing his fingers through James’s red locks, the steady rhythm soothing both of them. James is clinging to him, his ragged breaths steadying with Thomas’s attention and murmured encouragement.

The mess on their bodies is cooling down and starting to get sticky, but Thomas doesn’t quite want to get up just now. Doesn’t want to leave James, even if just for a few seconds, afraid that fear and uncertainty should come back and fill his beloved’s heart. He reaches for a sheet to cursory wipe the cum of James’s and his body, before covering them both with a blanket.

“I wish we could be like this forever,” Thomas murmurs into James’s hair. “I wish we didn’t have to hide. I want to show all of England how much I care for you.”

“You can’t. You know that,” James answers, his voice devoid of emotion. “We can’t.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. It is but a wish, nothing more. You do not need to worry. No one will ever know.”

“Miranda knows.”

“I trust Miranda with my life. I trust her with yours as well, and I would hope you do the same.”

James averts his gaze, distancing himself from Thomas. Guilt is rising in his heart at the mention of Miranda, the thought of having betrayed both her and Thomas at the same time.

“Hey now,” Thomas says softly and leans closer again, cupping the back of James’s head, kissing him deeply, before continuing, “there is no need, no place for jealousy in this house. I love her. But I love you no less.”

James sighs. He takes Thomas’s hand, watches their fingers entwining and Thomas pressing a kiss to their joined knuckles. 

“How can you be so sure? How is this all so easy for you? Do you never fear, never doubt?”

Thomas gives him a small smile. 

“We love each other, but we also both love you. Our life has become so much happier, much more invigorating since meeting you. You are not just the most beautiful man I’ve ever met - now, don’t laugh at me, I am being serious,” he silences James’s embarrassed reply with a quick kiss, before continuing, ”you are also one of the brightest minds. And you have never been afraid to speak your mind, as you have demonstrated today. But - and you must believe that I am not saying this to hurt you, please - you are neither the first man that Miranda has invited into her bed since we became married nor the first that I have. So trust me when I say that Miranda is never, never going to betray any of us. Neither of us stands to gain anything from that certain scandal.”

The silence that follows weighs heavily on both of them. James sits up on the edge of the bed, his head low so the curtain of red hair keeps his face out of view. 

“You mean to tell me that you truly do not mind that just yesterday I fucked your wife in this very house?” His tone is cold, detached, his hands firmly clasped in his lap. He sits like a statue, his feet planted on the cold floor, elbows on his knees, leaning forward as far as possible without leaving the bed.

Thomas sighs and gets up himself. He steps out of the bed and around the corner to kneel before James, looking up, trying to catch his eyes but James turns his face away, the movement abrupt, his jaw set. Thomas reaches out a hand to gently lay onto James’s knee, relieved when he accepts it. 

“I told you, there is no jealousy between Miranda and me and there shouldn't be between us. You will never have to compete with her for my attention. Even before,” Thomas clears his throat, “this, I trusted your counsel and nothing has changed now. I still hold you dear as a friend. And also as a lover, I can only hope.”

“I need to leave soon,” James says, glancing at the significantly reduced candles on the bedside table. 

“You can stay for a while longer. I will have the carriage take you home later. James, please look at me.” When James looks down at him wearily, Thomas pleads: “Stay with me just a bit. I could not bear parting with you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Not knowing if you will ever come back to me.”

“What are you talking about? Of course I will come back.”

“But will you come as the Admiralty's liaison? As my friend? Or as my lover? I cannot bear the thought of anything less, but you must know that I will accept everything that you wish, even if it should be nothing. Your wish is my command, you hold my heart in your power, my dear James.” 

Astonished, James watches Thomas lower his head, watches a Lord cower at his feet and he doesn't know what to do. It is nothing that he ever dreamed of, if he even allowed himself to dream of Thomas at all. 

“Stop this,” he grunts, reaching out for Thomas's head, making him look up at James. Thomas's eyes are clear, full of devotion and not a hint of uncertainty. James wonders if he himself ever looked as sure of anything as Thomas does now. 

“What is your answer then?” Thomas sees the doubt, the fear in James's eyes, feels it in the hands trying to pull him up, but he refuses, wants to show James that he has as much power in their relationship, that he is not making this decision alone.

“Yes, alright?” James sounds exhausted. “My answer is yes. Yes, I will come back. Yes, I will be your lover. Yes, Thomas.” He presses a kiss to Thomas's head. “Now, please, will you stop this? It is beneath you to beg at another man's feet.”

“If it is beneath me to lay myself down at your feet, I'll gladly stoop to the lowest levels of existence. If that is what it takes to be with you, my love, I'll do it. Although I will have to admit,” he gets to his feet, looming over James, caressing his face and looking at him with rekindled passion, “I like it better when you are under me, especially in this state of,” and he lets his gaze travel hungrily over James's body, “un-dress.”

James looks up at him incredulously. 

“You are impossible,” he says, leaning back, letting his weight rest on Thomas's arms around his neck. “I really should take my leave soon.”

“Ah, you might be right, my dear. But you will not leave me without a kiss to last me until you shall come back, will you? If I have to spend the night alone in this cold bed, will you at least promise to think of me when you are in your bed?”

“How could I?” James stands up, tugging Thomas's head down so he can kiss him deeply, not with fire, but with conviction, the kiss of a man deciding his own fate.

“And will you not forget about me? Because I shall be thinking of you in every second that propriety keeps us apart from each other.”

“Never will I forget you, this I promise, Thomas,” he replies earnestly, before adding, “and certainly not in just one night, of which I have already spent half with you,” with a smile.

Thomas smiles back at him, embracing him, the heat of his body and the love in his eyes making it so hard for James to let go of him, but he knows he has to. He turns away, collecting his clothes from the ground and starts putting them on. When he stands before the mirror to tie his hair back again, Thomas steps behind him, already dressed in his nightclothes, and puts his head on James's shoulder, nuzzling at his neck.

“You are distracting me,” James chastises in good humour, leaning into the touch and brushing his hand over Thomas's cheek.

“I should hope so,” Thomas whispers directly into his ear, “seeing as this uniform of yours has always been nothing but a distraction to me. How wonderful to know that I am not the only one of us who can be swayed from their objective by the presence of the other.” He takes the band from James's hand and carefully ties it around the red locks before pressing a kiss to the top of James's head.

“Goodnight James. Tell Edward to bring you home safely in the carriage. And then return as soon as possible, if you will. I shall be waiting for you, my love.”

“I will.”


	2. Chapter 2

# I'll be your courage

### II.

The breaking of the next daylight brings back uncertainty and shame in James, waking him in a sweat from an imagined repetition of last night's dinner and what it lead to.

He feels his cheeks darken at the thought of how very much he stepped out of line yesterday. Even if Lord Hamilton had told him that it was fine, that he'd enjoyed it as much as himself, it had been a lowly affair and his Lord deserved so much more than this. Not some dirty and pathetic excuse for a lieutenant who clearly didn't know his place. Not some stupid boy who couldn't keep his temper in the face of adversity. 

He quickly dresses again, leaving the house without so much as breakfast to go see his Lord immediately and beg him for forgiveness, him and Miranda. He doesn't even know what he is going to say, but he knows that he has to see them and apologize for his rash behaviour.

His fingers can't seem to stay still for more than a few seconds at a time, tapping out a slow rhythm against the buttons of his coat. The same coat that had hung in Lord Hamilton's private quarters last night. The same coat that a lord, a real lord, took from his shoulders last night. The same coat that his lord had taken great care to button up before demanding of him a promise to return.

James inhales the fresh morning air. He wills his fingers to still, instead trying to remember Thomas's hands on his coat, the elegant fingers gently closing each gleaming button while whispering sweet nothings to James.

His heart beats faster at the memory, but also more evenly than before. He remembers Thomas's insistence on calling James his lover and his devastation at the idea that James might not be inclined to allow this title for himself. He remembers Thomas, Lord Thomas Hamilton, begging him on his knees for the admission of it.

When he arrives at the Hamilton residence, the rising sun, his brisk pace, and his nerves have him in a slight sweat. He dabs at his face with a handkerchief to make himself more presentable before knocking at the door.

To his surprise, it is not one of the servants that answer the door but Miranda herself. 

“Good morning, James,” she says with a smile, her eyes roaming over him, taking in his reddened face and trembling hands, before he can clasp them together again.  
“It is good to see you, but I am just heading out. I'm meeting with Lady Ashe today. I trust, though, that my husband will take good care of you in my absence, would you not agree? He is currently in his study, you know how to find it, yes?”

James can only nod and he doesn't quite manage to move for a few seconds after Miranda has left him at her doorstep. He steps inside then, closing the door behind him, leaning against it for the briefest moment to catch his bearings. 

At the door to Thomas's study, he hesitates again. Actively remembering that Thomas asked him to come back, that it was his expressed wish, and that James had never known him to speak what he did not truly mean, helps him gather his courage to knock.

“Yes?” comes Thomas's answer from within and James opens the door. Thomas is sitting at his desk, books and papers strewn all over the room, quill in hand. The sun is illuminating his slightly ruffled hair and James's heart misses a beat as a wide smile grows on Thomas's lips when he realizes who his visitor is. He gets up and comes around the desk, stopping a few steps before James.

James wants to say something but his words fail him yet again. He tries to look up at the other man, peering beneath his lashes at a fond smile and honest blue eyes.

Thomas reaches out with one hand, as one might at an animal that one did not wish to startle, gently brushing James's upper arm.

“James, good morning,” he says, his hand lingering, the touch anchoring James in the present, hot even through the layers of his uniform, the use of his given name still as intimate as it was the first time. He doesn't think that he can ever not feel a shiver when his Lord addresses him with this familiarity.

“I hope that you have rested well. You look a bit agitated. Are you quite alright, my dear?” 

Thomas looks concerned and James tries to school his features into order. He can only assume what a pitiful picture he must pose. Trembling beneath the merest touch and unable to look the other man fully in the eye. He wants to speak, wants to reach out, but he cannot find the words, cannot overcome propriety in the broad daylight of Thomas’s study, so harsh and revealing against the faint candlelight of the night before.

“I am well, my Lord, thank you.”

“Do you wish to upset me, James?” Hurt tinges his voice, his hand falling from James's arm.  
“Can you not call me Thomas? I - I meant what I said. Yesterday and every other day, James. I love you. I also meant what I did, what we did. Do you regret it?”

Thomas looks down, trying to catch James's eyes, his hands splayed over his stomach as if to steady himself. He sees James opening his mouth, closing it again. He wants to reach out again, wants to grab at James and hold him and tell him to never leave again. He fears that it will always be like this, always James's fear returning when they're apart. But Thomas knows that he is being impatient. All this is new to James and he should know better than to rush him. It is still early in the morning and James is already here which Thomas thinks is a good sign. 

Then, James takes a step forward, towards Thomas and this time it is him that reaches out. Thomas feels the weight of his hand on his shoulder and he turns his head to brush his cheek against it, not stopping the sigh that escapes him at the touch of bare skin against skin. He also steps closer to James then, slowly lifting his hands to cradle his face and tip his chin upwards so he can really look at him. He can see the longing in James's gaze, the way it drops to his mouth before focusing on his eyes again, willing him to come closer and Thomas wants, oh he wants so much to just do it, to kiss and to touch and to sink into these eyes, sink into the passion that he knows hidden in this beautiful man. But James hasn't said a word, hasn't really spoken since he arrived, and he needs to hear him. He needs to know for sure. Needs to be certain that he is not imposing himself onto James. That James wants this, that he is not just afraid to say no to a Lord. It is almost laughable, because when has he ever known James to be afraid of speaking his mind, but this - this is different. He remembers the way that James seemed to freeze at seemingly random times yesterday and he doesn't want this to be the same. He wants James, wants him more than he has ever wanted another man. Wants him, not just for his body but also for his mind, his wit, his humour. He wants James to want him, too. Enthusiastically want him, without fear, without shame.

“James, please. I need you to speak with me. I want - you know that, you _must_ know that I want you. But I need to know if you want me the same. What we did yesterday. I want this. And more. With you. Is this also what you want?”

He strokes his thumb over James's cheek, imploring him to say something, say anything.

The fingers on his shoulder tighten, James's other hand coming up to his neck, tugging him closer and then James is kissing him, his mouth hard on his, his hands grabbing at him, his eyes tightly shut. He can't help but linger before he can rally the willpower to separate himself from James, to take a step back, the only point of connection remaining James's hands clinging to the front of his shirt.

“No. It cannot be like this. I cannot be with you like this. You must speak with me,” he says, keeping his eyes on James's eyes and his voice steady, even though he'd wish to scream and cry, so terrified is he of losing James to this fear and inhibition that he seems hardly able to overcome. When no answer is forthcoming, Thomas drags his hands through his hair and then down his face in exhaustion.

“Please, “ he pleads, “speak with me, James, please. What do you want from me?”

James watches his Lord, sees the desperation in his eyes, sees Thomas's fingers twitching towards him but stopping. Thomas's mouth opening, but refusing to say more, to ask more of him. He wonders if Thomas knows just what he is asking of him. He wonders if he knows himself. 

Stepping aside and around Thomas, he leans against the desk, facing away from the other man. He desperately wants to just lay himself down at Thomas's feet and let him decide, let him do what he wishes, what he deems the right thing to do, but he's seen the set of his jaw, the steel in his eyes, a stubbornness he knows well from countless debates on matters political and cultural alike. Thomas will not go any farther, will be mute on this, on them, if James doesn't answer him now. But how does he answer a question that he does not really understand? How can he speak on something so unspeakable? He shivers with a strange mix of fear and anticipation at the thought of being with Thomas, at the mere possibility of being able to have this - this longing that he could never put a name to before Thomas - fulfilled.

“I want - how can I know what I want? I just want you. To be with you. But Thomas,” he grabs the edge of the desk tighter before continuing, “I have never - I don't know what to ask for, I don't know if _that_ is what I want.”

“James, my sweet sweet darling James, that is certainly more than I have ever dared dream of. If you do not wish for anything more than what we did yesterday, I will still be the happiest man in this city, this whole empire. I love you! Anything else… I'm quite certain you'd like it as well, and we could try, if you wish, but if not then we just don't.” He inhales sharply before continuing in a calm voice: “It is not necessary for my happiness. You are.”

Thomas stands close to him again, rubbing circles into his lower back, effectively soothing him, grounding him in the moment, grounding him in Thomas. He dares lean into the touch just a bit because it feels good and he wants to and somehow he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this one time he can really have what he wants. He can feel Thomas's gaze upon him, one hand covering his own. With a gentle touch, Thomas coaxes his fingers to relax. His other hand is at the nape of James's neck, almost weightless, but nevertheless guiding his face up so he comes face to face, chest to chest with Thomas, their fingers tangled, their lips mere inches apart.

James looks up at Thomas, looks into the eyes of a man who has never betrayed him, has never lied to him, has never asked of him more than he was willing to give. And by God, what he would give for this man.

“I want to be with you,” James whispers, “in whatever way you see possible. I trust you.”

Thomas searches his eyes for uncertainty, for fear, but finds only calm determination. He smiles, a shaken smile. Trust. James trusts him. He doesn't know how he deserves this much, but he sure will take what he's offered. He pulls James into a kiss, lips softening against his own, an arm embracing him, a hand on his shoulder blade. A small moan and Thomas could not say who opens their mouth first to taste each other, to lick and bite and breathe.

Hell, if this is what comes after the doubt and fear, he'll gladly reassure James on every day that what they're doing is good, it's pure, it's right, because it is so so right. Nothing ever felt as right in is life as James pulling off Thomas's cravat, James's fingers stroking down his pulse point down into the deep V of his shirt, James pressing their hands together. Nothing ever felt as right as James's breath in his mouth, James's hair under his fingertips, James's soft panting in his ears. Nothing ever felt as right as James.

James can't stop the soft moans at Thomas's touch and by now he is not sure he even wants to. He can't stop touching Thomas, feeling that smooth skin under his hands, warming at his touch, knowing how much he affects him. He is affected, too, by Thomas's hot and open kisses, by one hand in his hair, one hand firmly clasped in his own, both tugging him along with Thomas who is walking backwards towards a door in the wall. James knows where it leads; he's shared that bed with Miranda already and the memory simultaneously stokes his arousal and flushes him with guilt. A rather prompt stop from Thomas brings them closer to each other and he can feel Thomas's erection where they're pressed to each other, Thomas's leg pressed between his own and he hisses at the sudden friction on his hardening cock. When Thomas let's go off his head and turns away to open the door, all thoughts of Miranda are already forgotten. He follows Thomas closely, clinging to his hand as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling down an abyss. 

Thomas bids James to sit down on the bed and gets rid of his shirt and breeches. Now in his underthings, he kneels down, kissing James's knees and looking up at him, smiling. 

“My God, but you're beautiful,” he sighs, his heart aching, breathing hard. He pulls off James's boots and socks and kisses his feet.

“Thomas, no, please.” 

James reaches down to stop Thomas, a hitch in his speech that belies the words.

“No?” Thomas asks, his eyebrow raised in amusement as he stops his hands at James's belt. 

He openly looks over James, taking in his flushed face, the strain on his breeches.

“You don't have to,” James begins, embarrassed.

“But I want to,” Thomas replies. He lets his hands glide over James's thighs.

“I want to take off this belt. And these breeches. And this cravat.”

He leans up, to slowly wind the cloth off of James's neck, pressing a wet kiss to his pulse point when he's done.

“And this shirt.”

He opens the first few buttons, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin and then he grabs the hem of the shirt, lifting it over James's head and letting it fall to the floor.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs. 

James's hair is mussed and there's a hint of red stubble on his cheeks and jaw. His eyes are darkened with lust and the self-conscious flush has spread to his chest, which is only sparsely covered in hair but very well-defined. He looks every bit the sailor that he is and Thomas sighs contently. 

“Look at you. You are so lovely. I want to kiss every inch of your body, every single of those wonderful freckles. I want to trace every single one of your muscles, want to -”

He is interrupted by a loud gasp falling from James's open mouth. His eyes are closed and his hands are gripping at the sheets.

“Please Thomas, please.”

“What now, James? What do you want me to do?”

“Yes. Touch me. Please.”

He's writhing on the bed when Thomas quickly undoes his belt and breeches, dragging them down along with his underthings and his cock is finally free. He watches Thomas completely undress and lets himself be dragged up the bed, lying on his side, facing Thomas, who takes both their cocks in his hand and slowly tugs on them. 

“Like this?” Thomas asks, his other hand caressing James's face.

He can only nod, even though it is not enough, not at all, not even nearly. It is torture, it is sweet torment, his arousal rising and falling with this slow rhythm. He puts his own hand on Thomas's, tightening the circle, trying to speed them up, to chase his pleasure, but Thomas stops. He takes James's hand and holds it down on the mattress above his head. James wants to reach down again, but Thomas's grip is hard and strong.

“No.”

James groans in frustration. 

“Trust me,” Thomas says and when he kneels over James, his kiss is frenzied, wild. He licks into James's mouth, putting his weight into the kiss, into holding down James's hands. When he feels James relaxing beneath him, he let's the kiss turn softer again, before they eventually break apart for air and Thomas resumes his steady rhythm, slowly stroking their cocks with feather light touches

“Yes, that's it. You're so good, James.”

Thomas let's go of James's hand to caress his face, gently stroke his neck and comb through his hair.

“So beautiful. I love your hair, did I ever tell you that? I'm so glad you're never wearing those awful wigs. That hair of yours is a treasure that should never be hidden away.”

Thomas smiles at him and it does something to James that he cannot quite grasp. His praise and his gentle, sweet caresses; he's never experienced anything like it. But Thomas is also strong and even though he's not holding James down any more, he doesn't want to move. He just wants to be. Wants to do whatever Thomas tells him, because he does. Trust him, that is.

“Can I-” he has to close his eyes before he can continue, “can I touch you?”

Thomas takes his hand and he can feel his soft skin under his fingertips. 

“Touch me here,” Thomas whispers into the palm of his hand and kisses it.

James maps Thomas's face with his fingertips, stroking over his brow with a thumb, looking into his eyes and resting his palm on Thomas's cheek while his other hand is twisted into the sheets, resisting the urge to touch more, to do more, to feel more of Thomas.

Thomas leans down to capture James's lips in a slow and sensual kiss, all wet and open mouthed. He slides his hands down James's body and lets his lips follow their path. James is shivering beneath him, moaning quietly. Thomas mouths at his side, changing direction sideways to lick at James's abs before trailing up again and closing his mouth around a nipple, licking around it lightly before sucking on it. James elicits a beautiful gasp at the action, prompting Thomas to repeat it. He lavishes the same attention on the other nipple and James is writhing on the bed. He leans up to watch as he puts his fingers into James's mouth, who eagerly sucks on them. The sight of James's lips stretched around his fingers reminds him of last night and sends a spark to his groin.

“James,“ he moans, “do you have any idea what you're doing to me? What I want to do to you? With you?”

“Tell me!” James gasps out, his eyes flying open as Thomas pinches his nipples and rubs them with wet fingers.

“I want to touch you. Everywhere. And I want to suck your cock.”

He slides down on the bed, keeping his eyes on James's to make sure that he listens, that he understands, that he's still willing to go on, but all he sees is James's trust and desire.

He takes James's cock into his hand and licks it slowly, from the base to the tip.

“I want to hear you say my name.”

“Thomas.”

He kisses the head and wets his lips.

“I want to hear you say my name when you cum. When you cum right down my throat.”

James flushes deeply red at that. He struggles to keep his hips still, to keep lying down.

“Can you do that for me, James? Do you want to cum in my mouth? Can you tell me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good. Very good. I love you so much, James.”

James wants to answer, but Thomas wraps his lips around his cock and suddenly there is so much heat. It is so tight and so wet and Thomas’s head isn't even moving, but his tongue. His tongue is curling and flattening and he's sucking. Hard. James curses and finally, finally, Thomas is moving. He slides his mouth up to suckle at the tip of James's cock and then his fingers are around the shaft and he slides his mouth down over them and James doesn't know what he should concentrate on. Thomas's fingers, so wet and tight, circling his length, pumping up and down, the heat of his mouth all around him, his tongue playing with the skin at the top of his cock, the other hand cradling his balls, it's all so much and all so much better for knowing it's Thomas who's doing this to him.

Thomas removes his fingers from James's cock. He strokes with wet fingers through James's crack, taking care to keep the rhythm of his tongue even, to keep James relaxed. With his other hand he grabs for the oil in his bedside table. He pours it liberally onto his hands before hooking one arm under James's thigh, hitching it up to get better access to his arse. Swirling his tongue around the cock in his mouth, he starts circling James's hole with slick fingers, tapping on it ever so often.

James can't stop from openly moaning at the sensations that threaten to overwhelm him. It is so tight and so wet and he can't even think of how wrong this should feel because it feels so right, Thomas feels so right. He's close, so close to his release and he wants to tell Thomas to stop but he remembers that he said to spill in his mouth and the thought is almost enough to push him over the edge. There's pressure against his hole and it feels so unlike anything he's ever felt, he doesn't know if he likes it. But he does like Thomas swallowing around his cock right now and the uneasiness is gone and he just feels so hot, so completely here with Thomas, there's nothing else he can think about. The pressure gets stronger, deeper, but so does the heat in his belly, the tension in his shoulders lifting him up from the bed, deeper into Thomas's mouth and there's a strange sensation in his arse, Thomas is doing something and he's screaming Thomas's name, emptying his cock deep inside him.

He feels Thomas swallowing his cum and then he is lying next to him, half on top, but careful not to touch his softening, sensitive cock, kissing his mouth, stroking his face and he realizes he must be crying, for Thomas is talking to him, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

“Hey hey, it's alright. Everything is alright. You've been so good for me, so perfect. Everything is good.”

He wants to say that he is fine, but he can't stop the tears from flowing. It is all so much and he can still feel everything, he is so overwhelmed and he wants to tell Thomas, needs him to know how much he means to him, how much he loves the other man. He wants to ask him to stay like this, to be with him forever. He doesn’t know how he gets the words out but he does and he’s crying and Thomas is there. Thomas is holding him and comforting him and kissing him and it is alright, everything is good.

“Shhh, don't worry, darling. Don't think. I'm here. It's all good. You are good. You are perfect. I will make you feel so good, if you let me.”

He holds James face with one hand, brushing the tears away, kissing them away. Very gently, he starts moving his other hand, excruciatingly slowly pulling his finger almost out of James's arse. He watches James carefully, sees the moment when he realizes what is happening. He pushes in again, just slightly. James gasps in shock, his hands grabbing at Thomas's to stop him.

“Please James, please let me show you. Please. I can make you feel so good, I promise. I'm not going to hurt you. Never. Just, let me, please.”

James lets his hands fall to his sides, breathing heavily, very obviously trying to calm himself down. Thomas pushes in a bit more, just so he can move his finger against the rim, stretching James. He grabs a pillow to put underneath James's arse and then pours more oil onto his hands. One hand massaging James's thigh, he gradually gets him to relax again. He puts another finger to James's hole, kissing him while pushing in with two fingers and James bites down on his lips when he starts scissoring his fingers inside him.

“Oh yes, that is it. My God, you're wonderful. You're so good, so good.” 

He feels so open and it is entirely a weird feeling. James almost wants to ask him to stop but he remembers Thomas doing something earlier and he wants that feeling again and he doesn't know what it was or how to ask for it but he knows it came from this so he tries to relax, tries to just feel, just enjoy the praise that Thomas is showering him with. He is certainly the most vocal lover that James has ever taken but then that shouldn't really come as a surprise to him, knowing Thomas. 

“Darling, you're doing great, just great,” Thomas says when he's inserting another finger and this time it hurts, a slight burn.

“Thomas,” he whimpers, “what are you-”

“I know,” Thomas interrupts him, stroking his head, placing a gentle kiss on his belly.

“I know. It feels like it's too much, right? But it's just for a moment. It will pass. I promise. Trust me?”

James nods. And Thomas is right. After a moment of Thomas moving inside him, the sting lessens and when Thomas pushes in deeper again, he feels an echo of the sensation he's been seeking. 

“Oh. Yes,” he gasps, surprised.

“Yes?” Thomas asks and repeats the same motion. James looks up at him wide-eyed and clearly aroused. He strokes the spot a few more times and James's cock starts to harden again.

“Oh yes,” Thomas repeats and adds a fourth finger, to make sure he's ready, make sure there's not going to be any discomfort. This time, James doesn't complain. He just grits his teeth for a bit before his body adjusts to the further stretch.

“Yes, my darling, that's it. That's it. Do you know why I'm doing this? Do you want me to tell you?”

“Jesus, yes, please.”

“Because I like it. Because I like seeing you unravel like this. Because you're so beautiful when you let go off all propriety.” 

He reaches for James's face again, grabbing his chin and tilting his face down so he can look into his eyes when he says: “And because I really want to fuck you. James, I want to fuck you. Will you let me?”

“Yes!” 

“Are you certain? Please don't think that this is something that you have to do, because it is not.”

“No. I don't. I mean yes, I am certain. Thomas, please.”

“Lord help me, you're gonna be the end of me. You are so fucking perfect, James, so perfect.”

He's kissing James, his hand slipping out of his arse and it feels so wrong now, so empty, so James tugs at him to get them closer together.

“Wait. Just a - I need to -” Thomas grabs the oil, pouring it over his rock hard cock, spreading it with his hands before leaning down again.

“It will be easier if you turn around.”

“No. Please, no, I need to - see you.”

“Oh darling, of course, yes, I'm sorry, yes.”

He lowers himself onto James and grabs his cock to guide it to James's hole. He's well-stretched and oh so slick. The head of his cock glides in almost without resistance and he groans with satisfaction. He pushes forward, leaning his forehead on James's.

“My God, this is perfect, you are perfect, James. Can I?”

James kisses him in response, his arms coming around his back, tugging him closer. It is very different. While Thomas's fingers had stretched his entrance well, his cock is longer, going deeper inside him, filling him completely. It's pressure, so much pressure and he feels he might explode with it, his insides burning, his legs stretched around Thomas's narrow waist, his cock trapped between their bodies. It hurts. But he wants this, wants Thomas to have him, to take him.

“Do. Something,” he manages between gritted teeth.

Thomas has the indecency to smile down at him. 

“Oh, I will. Give me your hands.”

He complies and Thomas stretches him further, holdings his hands tightly above his head, kissing him hard before finally, finally moving. He slides in and out of James's body, the pressure lessening a bit but the heat stays with them. His cock is begging for attention but Thomas makes no move to touch it and he can't do it himself. He doesn't want to ask for it either, because he feels that if he did, this would be over very soon and he doesn't want it to be over. He wants it to last. 

“Yes, that's it. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Just don't stop.”

“I won't.”

He slides in and out of James slowly, letting them both adjust to the new sensations. James is incredibly tight around his cock and he's moaning deliciously into their kisses, writhing under Thomas's hands. He breaks the kiss to look at James, laid out underneath him, his lips swollen, traces of tears still on his cheeks, his pale, freckled skin reddened by embarrassment and lust alike. 

“Keep your hands on the bed.”

He leans on one arm to trace James's muscles with his other hand. He stops at James's chest to play with his nipple, tugging on it.

“No. Hands on the bed, I said,” he says and firmly puts James's hand back over his head.

“There. That's a good boy.”

“I'm not a boy.”

“Sh, I know. But you blush so nicely like a boy.” He winks at James who turns his face away.

He leans up on both his arms and quickens the speed of his thrusts. The changed angle makes him hit that spot and James cries out in pleasure.

“Good. Show me how much you want me,” Thomas moans and thrusts deeper into James. 

James groans and writhes under him, but keeps his hands firmly tangled in the sheets.

“Yes! Just like this! You're so good for me, aren't you? So pretty, so perfect. Let me hear you.”

“Thomas!” James is begging him, without words, just with his name and by God, never has his name meant more to him than now, from James's lips.

He reaches between them for James's cock, precum leaking from the tip onto their bellies. He swipes his thumb over the head.

“Say my name. Please, James, please.”

“Thomas. Yesyesyesyes.”

Thomas feels himself coming close to the end but he concentrates on James, tugging on his cock, thrusting deeply, forcefully into his arse. James is meeting his thrusts, head thrown back, arms above his head, moaning in pleasure, groaning his name, his name on those beautiful lips.

When he feels a hot gush of cum on his hand, he collapses onto James, kissing him sloppily while thrusting into him, hard and erratic. James's arse is clenching tightly around his cock and he feels James's hands on his shoulders, his head, his neck, pressing them together. He moans into James’s mouth, his pleasure rising and James keeps whispering his name and then he's cumming and James is stroking his back through his orgasm and kissing him and kissing him and this is James. James is kissing him. James is in his bed and kissing him and now Thomas is crying, tears of joy.

“I love you so much, James. Fuck, I don’t know what to say, I can't even tell, you just mean so much to me.”

“Never thought I'd see you at a loss for words,” James smiles at him. “I love you, too. Never doubt that,” he adds quietly.


End file.
